Devastatingly.
December 2, 2012

“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’ It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.”
Catherine Breillat

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A Fine Frenzy.
August 14, 2012

To be honest, I don’t know how we got here. Or why we’re here. I read and re-read our old exchanges dating back 3 years and I still don’t know. But I feel the need to clear this up.

If I were to die tomorrow, morbid as that sounds, I want at least what I am going to say here to be clear to you.

I didn’t know how to explain then. I didn’t know how to tell you that saying goodbye that first time didn’t mean I was giving up. I was tired; I wanted a break, a breather, an easy out. Because it was exhausting what we had. Truth be told, weren’t you a little tired too? Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally and whatever other –ally’s that you can come up with?

The truth is that I had to get away from myself more than I did from you.

Because I was so far from the person I needed to be. So far from the perfection that was demanded of me. The perfection that, in retrospect, I put upon myself more than anything. Because 3 years ago, I saw myself through a movie screen, a high definition, grand resolution, 10 storey high film screen that had my flaws and mistakes and slip ups sprawled across it for me to wince and bite my nails at every step along the way.

And ironically, our situation was probably the perfect recipe of a badly constructed romantic comedy that neither one of us would be caught dead watching. Except it didn’t end nearly as peachy or as corny as a romantic comedy should’ve ended. And for a very long time I found myself being stuck. Stuck because I wanted you, but I couldn’t have you.

And even though I never admitted it out loud, I clung on to the hope that we were still heading off in the same direction. That we were still sharing the same orbit, a gravitational pull that binds us together by something so much bigger that the Earth’s pull on humanity. That maybe someday, if we both don’t stray too far from the path, we might just crash into each other again.

But we have an expiration date. We did from the start. And we never really were, even though we felt so strongly and so much.

I’ll admit that you a left heartcrack so fragile that I thought no one could ever fill that dark and treacherous rift. But I will always maintain that the best mistake I ever made was at 18. Because sometimes, talking to strangers can be the best thing a girl can do.

And since we’re in the business of truth telling, I might as well; I do miss you.

I miss telling you everything. I miss talking to you about everything. Every detail, every insignificant moment, every inconsequential impulse, every trivial matter. I miss talking to you. I miss our conversations.

But at the same time, I don’t.

Because people change. Feelings change. But it doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t true or real. It just means that we’ve grown so much from who we once were. And along the way we grew apart. But I will always be grateful for you, no matter how much pain we caused each other along the way.

I’m self destructive, I’m fickle and I’m a hot bed of emotional mess (as you’ve become so well acquainted with) but I’m no longer that girl you used to know. I’m better at living with my decisions now, despite having to bear the consequences of it.

That first goodbye was not a first goodbye, my darling. That first goodbye was the goodbye. And no amount of Jack and Coke or heartache can ever change that.

I said nothing when I should have said so much. And I’m sorry for that. But we could’ve talked forever and never come to a proper close. So here I am.

“Goodbye, my almost lover,
Goodbye, my hopeless dream.”

Strikhedonia.
August 2, 2012

To making the best of it all. To dreaming dangerously. To running to the edge. To embracing dumbness and audacity. To exciting new experiences. To living in the moment. To conquering. To breaking all the rules. To moving forward. To new horizons. To fulfilling. To striving. To reaching for the stars. To being uninhibited. To being kind. To growing. To dropping fears and taking risks. To being passionate. To seeing the beauty. To discoveries. To giving it your all. To having strength and courage. To the unchartered territories. To sailing out to open seas without supplies. To beginnings. To adventures. To saying ‘the hell with it.’

(To you, whom I knew was trouble from the start.)

Humour.
July 23, 2012

Sometimes I lie awake and think about him.

Does he think about me still? Did he ever? Is he still seeing her? Is he seeing someone new? Is she serious or is she just someone he’s seeing for now? Does she love him? Does he love her? Has he ever loved anyone? Does he talk to her? Does he argue over every insignificant little detail with her? Has he told her? Is he sad a lot, angry a lot, depressed a lot? Is he happy? Does he sleep well? Did I hurt him? Does he know how he’s hurt me?

But it struck me that I no longer wanted to know. And I haven’t. Not really. Not in a while. They’re just the whimsical, lyrical, far from erudite ponderings of someone who has a trouble letting go of things.

There was the period to the story of us — beautiful in its chaotically long and directionless run.

Because we never were, darling, even though we felt so much.

“I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember.. I’ll be different, but somewhere lost inside me there’ll always be the person I am tonight.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald